The Picnic
by XMarisolX
Summary: After David breaks off his engagement to Jennifer, his old friend invites him to his church. It proves to be a life-changing experience. David/Keith. CHAP 7: David left work and set out in his car. He didn't have any particular destination in mind.
1. Chapter 1

**Fandom:** _Six Feet Under_  
><strong>Title:<strong> "The Picnic"  
><strong>Characters:<strong> The Fishers, Jennifer, David…and an LA cop.  
><strong>Description:<strong> After David comes clean with his fiancée Jennifer, he catches up with an old friend. This leads him to an LA cop.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 18,261  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Six Feet Under_ was an HBO production created by Alan Ball. The characters and all other creative elements derived from the source material belong exclusively to the show's rightful owners. No copyright infringement is intended and no financial gain is sought by this fan fiction. So all you lawyers can suck it.  
><strong>AN:** Nathaniel died Christmas 2000. And when Nate came home, he asked David, "You back with Jennifer yet?" which—to me—seemed to indicate that Jennifer and David broke up during 2000. Additionally, after Keith dumped David, Nate asked David how long they had gone out and David had said "six months." So, I'm going to fanwank that they got together during later summer/fall 2000.

* * *

><p>This is how David used to spend a lot of his nights. Sitting on the couch, with ice cream, Boston cream pie, or a piña colada.<p>

He'd pulled away for a time, consumed with other preoccupations. But this evening is a return to form, of sorts. David had to come back sometime. He had to get back to Jennifer.

They talk comfortably; the conversation stalls and starts again—chatter about the day's activities or David's latest body, that weird shape on the ceiling…or nothing at all. The meandering conversation is cut short by a song on the radio. Jennifer's rising now. And dancing.

"Music," she sings, "makes the people come together." She is bouncing around. She likes this song. _A lot_.

"Come dance with me, David," she pleads and takes his hand. She continues singing. "Bourgeoisie and the rebel."

"You know I can't dance," David protests mildly.

"Aw, c'mon," she whines. She takes the bowl of whatever he's not eating out of his hand. She keeps singing. "Do you like to boogie woogie?"

"No," David answers.

She's undeterred. "Boogie woogie, do you like my dancing?" she sings.

A smile is curling around his lips. "Maybe."

She starts tugging on his arm. And now she's really going for it, dance-wise. She waves her arms—her eyes closed—and throws her hair around as she bounces back and forth. "And when the music starts, I never wanna stop, it's gonna drive me crazy."

David watches but doesn't budge.

She drops his hand, and then stops dancing. "I thought you liked Madonna," she says, slash asks, slash accuses.

"I do, I do" David assures her. "I'm just," he tries to be as inoffensive as he can while holding his ground. "I'm not in the mood."

She sighs, her shoulders drop. She stares at him a moment, her face suddenly sober. She's deciding whether to be angry or not. Madonna chooses that moment to remind the DJ that she just want to dance with her baby.

Jennifer starts walking towards the kitchen. "You want another drink?" she asks. She's not mad.

"Yeah," David asks. "Just… whatever you have chased with coke."

And like clockwork his mind goes back to their kiss. It lingers with him. So hungry. So fiery. So electric.

It's almost corny.

"All I have is Pepsi," she calls.

"That's fine," he answers.

He thinks of Jennifer's mouth. Delicate, with plump lips. Supple. Her tongue slips under his... gently? It tastes sweet. Sweet, and not at all like burnt tobacco.

She comes back with a tumbler and hands it to him. The she drops in next to him on the couch and throws her feet over his lap. She takes his free hand and twirls it in her own. David watches as she traces the lines on his hands—hands branded from lifting bodies, handling chemicals, sanding bone and piecing cadavers back together. She kisses his fingers just the same.

And he winces where she can't see—on the inside.

"I've been thinking," she starts wistfully. "About what you said."

David takes a sip. "Yeah?"

She nods. "Yeah. I'm coming around to Coco. Even Max."

David doesn't answer. Just… smiles. Kind of.

"Coco and… what was the other name? Clementine?"

David nods.

"Clementine," she repeats to herself. She has a moment of realization, and then wags her finger. "But there is _no way_ I'm naming any child of mine Willem." She laughs and thumps his knee. "No way."

_There was stubble in the cracks of his mouth_, David thinks. And he was reckless and aimless, sloppily sucking at the corners of David's mouth, his lips and the crevice under his nose. He smelled like aftershave, sweat and Marlboro's.

"I was thinking maybe, I dunno, Martin?"

David thinks about indulging this conversation. Maybe offering another name: Aiden, Harry, Gavin. But instead he mentally commends himself for turning down the blowjob; he promised himself he wouldn't cheat. Anymore. It wasn't fair. Not to Jennifer.

He tells himself that a kiss isn't cheating.

"What do you think of Mark? You know—to go with Max?" She looks at him expectantly, a nervous smile on her face. "You don't like it, do you?"

David gently lifts her legs off of his lap and takes her hands in his. And then pauses. He's not sure what he's about to say, but his nerve is up and he has to do it now.

"What?" she asks, and he sees more nervousness and less smiling. "What is it?"

"There's something," he takes a deep breath and looks away. When he turns back she's frozen…and panicked. But David is determined. "There's something I should have told you a long time ago, and I didn't. Because I was a coward. Because I _am_ a coward. But it's not fair to you and it's not fair to me."

Her breaths quicken and there's the faintest tremble in her bottom lip.

"Jennifer," he says. "I'm gay."

She doesn't react. It's as if she didn't hear, and David doesn't know if he should feel relieved or terrified. The silence, though is too much too bear.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he continues, and he looks down at her hands; they are quaking. "I swear I didn't. I… I don't know what I thought would happen. But, um, I can't lie to you anymore. You deserve the truth. You've given me the truth and… and I can't keep lying to you."

She drops her head down and she breathes in stifled gasps. Each labored breath only makes David feel even worse.

"Say… say something. Please Jennifer," he begs.

She finally looks up—her eyes glassy and her face dazed—and reaches up to touch his face. "I thought maybe…" she says. She looks away for a long time—several seconds, maybe—but when she turns around, there's calm on her face.

"Did you ever love me?" she asks.

And this David can answer. "I love you now. I'll always love you," he says. And it's the first time that it's felt like the truth.

"David?" she asks.

"Yeah?"

"Make love to me," she pleads.

"OK," David agrees, and starts to unbutton his shirt.

* * *

><p><strong>Feedback:<strong> Your reviews, concrit and general thoughts are the fuel to my fire. Thanks in advance.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

><p>And then there was this.<p>

David walked up the back steps of the house and waited. It had taken him a full three days to muster up the courage to tell his parents that he had called off his engagement with Jennifer and after doing so (last night after dinner) he was met with indifference (Claire), hysteria (his mother) and simmering, repressed rage (his father). For a minute, he had considered sparing the family, but had known he only would have been postponing the inevitable. He took a deep breath before entering the kitchen.

When he did, a hush fell over the kitchen. Six eyes silently followed as he tensely made his way to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Ruth asked.

"No… thank you," David replied tersely.

"Aren't you hungry?" she continued.

David knew that his mother, never content to leave well enough alone, would not stop until she had imposed her cloying brand of caretaking on him. David suppressed his desire to tell her to "fuck off" and instead, proceeded with the interrogation.

"No, I'm not hungry," he answered. When he turned around, she was looking perplexed.

"David you have to eat, dear. You must have your nourishment. I know this thing with Jennifer—"

"This doesn't have anything to do with Jennifer," David shot back, louder than he meant to. Wordlessly, his father rose from the table and left the room. There was a tense vacuum where he once was, followed by several moments of silence.

"He's going to need more time," she said gently. "You know your father is stubborn."

A sentiment David could agree with. He took a sip from his coffee, leaning against the counter. "I've noticed," he murmured.

"And so are you," she added.

David softened some. "I already ate something, Mother," he answered. Ruth found this hard to believe.

"But the carriage house doesn't have a stove."

"I didn't say I _cooked_ anything. I just said I ate."

"But what?" she asked.

David sighed. "Pop Tarts."

Release the hounds.

"Uh… oh, David," she stammered, scandalized.

"Mom, really, it's fine," he insisted.

"You know that is not a decent breakfast. You work all day long, sometimes not even having time for lunch." She rose, walking towards the refrigerator and taking out a carton of eggs and milk. "Pop Tarts! _Honestly_. It will only take a minute for me to scramble a couple eggs and fry some bacon. Would you like toast?" she asked.

Tacitly admitting defeat, David sat at the table and watched as his mother warmed a skillet. "Sure, Mom. I'll take some toast."

After a couple of minutes, Claire suddenly rose from the dead.

"Um, I'm gonna need a ride to school," she announced laconically.

"Why?" Ruth asked.

"Because my left, rear brake light is out, and I haven't had a chance to get it fixed _and_ I've already gotten one ticket."

"Well, why don't you take the school bus?" Ruth suggested.

"Um, because there are a ton of sluts up there that I really _can't_ deal with this morning."

"_Claire_," Ruth gasped. "Watch you language."

Claire squinted with irritation. "What did I say? _Morning?_"

"No," Ruth whispered by way of clarification, "… _sluts_."

Claire scoffed. "Can you just take me to school?"

"Can you just take me to school… _please_," Ruth corrected.

"Fine. Can you just take me to school… _please?"_

"No," Ruth answered, cracking an egg. "I have an intake at 8:00."

Claire sharply rolled her eyes, annoyed. "Then why did you make me repeat it all proper if you were just going to say no?"

"Claire," Ruth began. "You should use good manners regardless of the answer."

"I'll take her," David offered. Both women looked at him. "It's fine. I'll take her."

"Thanks," Claire muttered, scooped up her things and stormed out of the kitchen.

"Then what about breakfast?" Ruth said, looking at her incomplete meal with some discontent.

"I'll eat it when I get back," David said. He pecked his mother on the check and left.

On the way to the school, David was treated to Claire's rants about the "poseurs" who had turned her school—which, according to her, was already "a conformist institute of indoctrination"—into a "rogue society of backwards-thinking automatons that promote the devaluation of self". David listened half-heartedly, more preoccupied with surviving the day ahead of him and working with a man that could barely tolerate his presence. About five minutes into the ride, he spotted someone. He pulled over.

"Wait here, Claire," he said.

"It's not like I'm going to walk off," she replied.

"Sean," he called, and jogged across the street. Sean—a postman—was closing a mailbox when he turned around.

"David! Hey," he said. "Long time no see. What's up?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I've been calling you for days, but you never answered."

"Out of minutes," Sean explained. "Why?"

"Well," David said with some dramatic flair, "I did it."

"Did what?" Sean said, trying to match his excitement. "_Came out?_"

David shook his head, chastened a bit. "No… no, I… didn't come out. Well I did… in a way. I came out to Jennifer. I told her that I was gay and that I was sorry but that we had to break up."

"What?" Sean blurted. "How'd she take it?"

"Well… better than I expected," David replied. "She kind of just sat there, stunned. And then she asked me to have sex with her."

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I mean, it was the least I could do."

Sean shuddered.

David reflected back on the evening. "Afterwards she cried a little. I tried to comfort her, but then she told me to get out."

Sean regarded David with a mix of relief and lingering shock. "It could have been a lot worse."

"I know," David agreed.

"You told your folks yet?"

"Yeah, last night. Mom went nuts, of course. Claire didn't really care. Dad was… silently enraged." Something crossed David's mind. "He always loved Jennifer, probably more than I did. It was almost like she was the daughter that he'd always wanted that Claire refuses to be and that I couldn't be—no matter how hard I tried."

Seth chuckled at that. So did David.

There was the loud sound of honking. David turned around.

"I have to go to school!" Claire yelled through the car window.

"Who is that?" Sean asked.

"Claire."

"Wow. She's really grown up. I haven't seen her in years."

"Yeah. She's… she's our Claire."

"Well, good to see you. We should catch up."

"We should," David agreed.

"You still going to St. Bart's?" Sean asked.

"Yeah."

"Well why don't you check out my church this Sunday? Dip your toes in the world of the out and proud."

David hesitated. "I would but… my mom doesn't like going to services alone, poor thing."

"David," Sean said. "She can manage one Sunday."

He thought on that a minute. "You know, you're right. I'll go with you."

Sean smiled. "Great."

Just then there was a long, obnoxious honk followed by Claire yelling, "Let's go!"

"I'll see you Sunday," David said, and jogged back to the car.

* * *

><p><strong>Feedback:<strong> Your reviews, concrit and general thoughts are the fuel to my fire. Thanks in advance.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

* * *

><p>David returned from the crematorium bearing what was left of their latest John Doe. It had been a day of quiet desperation (not unlike other days) but with less conversation and noisier handling of embalming materials.<p>

David entered into the basement to find Nathaniel hunched over a gurney.

"I thought I was fixing Mrs. Cole's nose," David said to the back of his father's head. While waiting for an answer, he placed the box of cremains on the shelf. He turned to his father who was still silent. "Huh?"

After a moment, Nathaniel looked up.

"Was that a question?"

"An explanation wouldn't hurt."

After a moment, Nathaniel looked up.

"Was that a question?"

"An explanation wouldn't hurt."

"I'm doing it," Nathaniel said and resumed pressing flesh-colored putty into a flesh wound.

"And were you going to tell me?"

"I didn't realize I had to answer to you," was his father's terse reply.

David sat down at the next gurney and, rolling up his sleeves, began to wash the body of 86-year-old Dr. Harold Simpson. "I'm getting better at doing noses," he said in his own defense.

"Congratulations," Nathaniel said. He rose, and pulling off his gloves, walked over to a cupboard feet from David, rifling among the boxes overhead.

"Looking for something?" David asked without looking up.

Nathaniel didn't reply. With each second that passed in his unsuccessful search, his shuffling became noisier and more careless.

"The flexible collodian is still in the boxes. We never unloaded them last night."

With his search over, Nathaniel walked over to the back wall, ripping a box open and taking out a bottle. He sat back down and, crouching over Mrs. Cole, resumed his nasal reconstruction.

David watched on with a simmering frustration. "So this is how it's going to be from now on?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Nathaniel replied.

"You're mad at me," David answered.

"I'm not mad," Nathaniel replied.

"Well, you sure do seem mad," David said. "No eye contact. No conversation. Slamming equipment around."

Nathaniel sat up and stared David in the eye. "What do you want me to say, David?"

David shrunk back, defensive. "I don't _want_ you to say anything."

"Good," Nathaniel replied, and returned to his work.

"But I don't understand why you can't respect my decisions."

Nathaniel took out a brush, dabbing Mrs. Coles face with sealant. "How am I 'disrespecting' your decisions?"

"You know what you're doing," David spat. "Don't act like it's all in my mind."

Nathaniel snorted a chuckle. "David, contrary to popular belief, all I want is for my children to be happy. You, Claire, Nate… all of you. That's all I want. And when you all make decisions that make things hard on yourselves—as you seem hell bent on doing—I'm disappointed."

"Disappointed?" David repeated. "You weren't marrying Jennifer. I was."

"Were you?" Nathaniel said. "You jerked that girl around for five years, and then what? Decided she doesn't put enough cream in her beef stroganoff?"

"I woke up one morning and realized that I wasn't in love with her. And it wasn't fair to her or me to—"

"Save it, David," Nathaniel interjected. "I got it. Flowers and rainbows and puppy dog tails."

"Don't patronize me," David said, seething.

Nathaniel sat up. "Patronize you?" he repeating smugly, before leaning on edge of the gurney, gesturing with his brush. "Let me tell you a story, son. When I married your mother, she was a Celtic goddess: flawless ivory skin, flaming red hair that danced around her bare shoulders, glistening emerald eyes. She was so shy and innocent she barely talked at all; just laughed at all my corny jokes. Now," he chuckled, "her hair has faded, her skin sags, and her infectious giggle has turned into shrill nagging."

"Don't bring Mom into—"

"But you know what David?" Nathaniel interrupted. "I'm no picnic either. Balding, always working, cornier than ever. A real son of bitch to be around, when I'm here at all. And guess what? If I had the chance to do it all over again, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Because nobody's promised you a soul mate, David. If you find somebody in life that gives you a little love and that can stand you, you've won the lottery." He went back to his work.

David was trembling. "Well that's the difference between you and me, Dad," he spat. "I want more out of life than making snide remarks at my wife over dinner, smoking a little pot when no one's looking and wiping shit out of the assholes of dead bodies all my life. I want some truth, some _meaning_ to my existence."

Nathaniel winked. "Good luck."

David stood up and walked out.

* * *

><p>Sean approached the church and found David standing outside off to the side, fiddling with his tie.<p>

"Uh, David?" he started.

David looked up. "Hey Sean. You're here."

"Yeah. Why are you dressed like you're on your way to a funeral?" Sean asked.

David looked down at his dark suit, crisp shirt, paisley tie and wing tip shoes. "Because I usually am? Ninety percent of my clothes look pretty much like this."

"Yeah, well, bring it down a notch next time," Sean said, motioning to his own polo shirt/khaki pants combo. He nodded towards the door. "Going in?"

"Yeah," David said. "I just… need a moment."

"Nervous?"'

"It's just… well I've never been to a gay church before."

"It's not a _gay_ church, David," Sean countered. "It's just a church. And there are gay people here."

David didn't look assuaged.

"This is an Episcopalian church," Sean argued. "Aren't you Episcopalian?"

"Yeah," David conceded.

"Good. Then let's go in."

They started towards the building when a large SUV screeched to a halt in a nearby parking space, and out came a large man in a fitted black shirt and pin-striped slacks. He pointed his clicker at the car as if to say "Fuck you, car. Now you're locked," and David watched—entranced—as the man sauntered across the parking lot and towards the church doors.

David leaned in close to Sean. "Who is that?" he asked.

"Keith," Sean answered. "Keith Thomas… or Keith Scott. I dunno. One of those last names that sounds like a first name."

"He comes much?"

"Yeah. Most Sundays. Why?"

David looked pensive. "Which team is he on?"

"Ours."

David nodded contently then turned to Sean, who was giving him an incredulous look. David was unswayed. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed that he's smoking hot."

Sean shrugged. "Yeah, but he's a jerk."

David rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that."

"No I'm not," Sean insisted. "Look at the way he struts as he walks, like he's on the red carpet at the Oscars. That big-ass SUV with those oversized tires just annoys me. And who wears muscle shirts to church? He's all ego."

"So he's confident and likes big cars. That doesn't make him a jerk."

"Charles!" Sean blurted.

"What?" David asked.

"Charles. His last name is Charles."

"I don't care. Still hot."

"Fine," Sean said. "Full disclosure? I still haven't forgiven him for arresting my cousin, like, a year ago just because—"

"He's a cop?" David said wistfully. It was Sean's turn to roll his eyes followed by an exasperated sigh. He pushed David towards the door.

"Let's just go inside, OK?"

* * *

><p>Today was a beautiful day, even for LA. The air was filled with the coolest of breezes and the sky was awe-inspiringly blue (no clouds anywhere). Birds were singing, people were smiling, and… David wanted to be out in it. Today was a day for errands. His dad could work the body shop.<p>

He was leaving the dry cleaners from picking up ten suits—_ten_—and heard a familiar cry.

"Paletas! Paletas!"

He dumped the suits in the back seat and jogged across the street to buy a popsicle from the Mexican ice cream cart.

"One dollar," the man said, and David handed him a buck before being greeted with a cold treat. The vendor was waddling off when David heard a less familiar cry.

"Hey you!"

He turned to see a man behind a table covered with… like pamphlets or something. A young woman with a lot of makeup and a shaved head was sitting next to him. There was a huge rainbow on the table cloth.

Oh.

"Yeah, you," the man answered to a question David hadn't asked. David looked around tentatively and walked towards the man. He was wearing a wife beater and teal short shorts, and peeped out at David from behind aviators and a LA Lakers trucker cap. David found his outfit incongruous.

"Um, hello," David said, taking another lick from his popsicle.

"Right," was the man's odd greeting. "We've gotta do something. We can't just let the social fascists define the world for us."

"Um… ok," David said.

"I'm not asking for any money," the man continued passionately. "I just want your pledge to support civil rights for everyone. Here," he handed him a pamphlet. David gave it a look.

"We're Human Too!—Insurance, marriage, adoption and other human experiences that gays are SOL," he read aloud. David chuckled. "Catchy."

"SOL stands for shit out of luck," the man explained, somewhat defeating the point of the acronym. "Read it and commit to not being afraid. That's all I ask."

David nodded. That sounded… doable. Empowering even. These people—teal shorts, bald heads and all—were his people. And his people had work to do.

David smiled. "Sure, I can do that," he said.

The man responded with a yelp and began to ring a bell. "Alright!" He and the girl high fived.

David turned to leave, but paused. "Um," he began. He had a nagging question. "How did you… how did you know I was gay?"

The man peered forward quizzically. "You're gay?"

So he … _hadn't_. "You said 'we' and 'us'. Like you were including me."

"I say that to everyone," he shrugged. "You know, gay doesn't look like anything." He went back to rifling through his paraphernalia.

"Right," David said, and with that, walked back to his car.

* * *

><p>This was the third Sunday in a row David had accompanied Sean to church, and he was starting to feel the tacit pressure to make a decision about the future of his church allegiance. His mother, for her part, was growing less and less tolerant of his church adultery and was strongly advocating a return to his home congregation.<p>

Sean and David rose and made their way down the aisle. The service was good, taken out of the book of Job. We suffer; it's not God's fault; God rewards faithfulness. All in all a good message.

What he caught of it anyway. There was a six foot one distraction on the far left that was impeding his spiritual nourishment.

He filed out with Sean as the pastor waited to shake their hands at the door. Somehow she had learned his name.

"Glad to have you with us again, David," she said warmly as he exited. "Will you be formally joining as a member?"

"Um, I'm not sure yet. It's something I've been considering. I've enjoyed my time here thus far." _Thus far?_

"Very nice," she said nodding. "If you don't mind my asking, what is your home church?"

"St. Bartholomew's," he answered. She nodded.

"Fine place. I believe Sean worshipped there as a child," she said. Sean nodded in agreement. "Well, member or no member, you're welcome to come to the picnic Deacon Curtis is hosting. Will you be attending?"

"Ummm…" David hesitated, shooting Sean a quick glance. He wasn't exactly ready to join the singles ministry. "Maybe," he answered noncommittally. "We'll see."

"Very well then," she conceded, before nodding to David and then to his companion. "Take care, David… Sean."

The two men nodded and made their way to the car.

"I'm not going to that picnic," David announced.

"Why not?" Sean asked.

"I don't know anybody."

"Um, that's the point of a meet and greet."

"I have a funeral tomorrow I have to prep for."

"Don't you always?" Sean retorted. David leveled an annoyed look. "Well…" Sean said, laying the bait, "Keith is going to be there."

David slowed a little as he walked, and Sean couldn't help but see him warming to the idea. He looked at Sean with the predicted look of obligatory resignation.

"Fine. I'll follow you there," he muttered. Sean beamed as they headed to the car.

David drove for several minutes, following Sean's impossibly slow driving that betrayed the fact that he spent most days dotting around in a glorified go-cart. When they finally stopped, David wondered at the complete lack of cars or activity outside of the place. Besides, it was small… too small to host a congregation-sized gathering. He jumped out, surveying the grounds with some curiosity.

"This is my house," he answered to the question written on David's face. "I'm just going to run in and change really quickly."

David's face sunk, and his shirt and slacks were suddenly burning his skin. "And what about me? I look like… "

"You look like you always look," Sean answered. The comment was less than welcome.

"Well, just make it quick," David said, "We're already late."

"OK," Sean said sarcastically as he jogged to the door, "I'll be right out Daddy."

David jumped back into the car. As he waited, he thought about the afternoon he was facing. After three weeks of regarding Keith with the distant admiration of a celebrity crush, he would actually be meeting him. Maybe spending time with him. Maybe…

Maybe _what_? Becoming his boyfriend? The notion was absurd. There was no way Keith was single, and if there _were_ any chance in the universe that he was, there was an even slimmer chance that he—hunky Adonis cop—would give David—pale, puny undertaker—the time of day.

It was at least 20 minutes before Sean came back out. His hair looked suspiciously wet. He jumped in shotgun with David.

"So… I'm driving?" David asked.

"The parking will probably be bad," Sean explained. David started the ignition.

"Did you take a _shower_?" he asked.

"I didn't want to put on a different cologne on top of the cologne I wore to church," Sean explained.

David internally shook his head as they pulled off.

"So how far away is this thing?" David asked.

"From here?" Sean said, mentally working out the distance, "About 20 minutes, maybe thirty depending if there's any traffic."

"What?" David blurted, aghast. "I thought it started at 2."

"It… did," Sean confirmed, clearly baffled by David's alarm.

"At this point, if we get there by 3:00 it'll be a miracle," he replied.

"So?"

"So? We're late."

"David," Sean replied somewhat defensive, but more amused, "This isn't high school. You won't get written up."

David's annoyance was unabated. Sean chuckled to himself. "Gosh David, I forgot how uptight you were."

Saying nothing, David pulled off.

They arrived in time to avoid David's dreaded 3:00 forecast, although just barely. In his haste, it took him a full minute to fully comprehend the grandiosity of his surroundings. He didn't know what this deacon did for a living, but it clearly earned him a check with a lot of zeros.

"Where are we?" David said, as they followed a marked path to the backyard, backgrounds, back_estate_.

"Los Feliz," Sean said. "You remember Ian." David shrugged with absolutely no recognition. He was also distracted by the in-ground pool somehow imbedded in the side of a hill that was lined with hedges that were manicured to resemble the iconic statues on Easter Island. Sean continued. "He's a producer of some kind. I think he's out of the country, but he hosts these things sometimes… mostly to score points with the Deacon Board I think. I don't know if he's actually attended one yet."

As they drew closer, David eyed the attendees. There were about 25 people gathered… and none of them were Keith.

"We missed him," David whispered dejectedly.

"Who? Keith?" Sean asked. David answered with a look of annoyance. "How do you know?"

"He's not here!"

"He's not here… _yet_."

David shook his head. "Thanks to our tardiness, he probably came, showed face, and left. And we missed him."

"Take a look around you," Sean instructed. David did. "We are the church nerds. All the cool kids aren't even on their way yet." David was oddly comforted by that statement. Being the nerd in the scenario felt familiar. "Here," Sean said, reaching for a drink on a nearby cart. He handed it to David. "Liquid courage. It does a body good."

David took the tumbler from his hand and took a sip. "This isn't alcoholic," he said.

"Hmm," Sean said with some consternation. "I guess this _is_ a church function and all. Well," he said, placing a hand on David's shoulder, "you're going to have to buck up on your own." He nodded towards a buffet table some distance away. "Meanwhile, I'm going to go check out the _hors d'ourves_."

David took a seat on a nearby bench and tried to relax by taking in the beauty of the hills. Around 3:15, people starting pouring in—people he had certainly never seen at church. Another 45 minutes, maybe an hour, passed as David exchanged courteous nods and the occasional salutation with passerby—coupled with the occasional stop in from Sean—and was considering leaving when all of sudden he saw him…

Keith.

Apparently Sean did too, and he seemed to materialize out of thin air.

"Go talk to him," he urged. David however, was too awestruck by the other man's confident demeanor as he watched him stride over to an assembled group chatting by the chocolate fountain.

"Let's leave," he said with more certainty than he had ever felt in his life.

"Not before you talk to Keith," Sean said. He took David by the arm and tugged the recalcitrant admirer across the lawn until they were a stone's throw from the chattering assembly. "Now go!" Sean declared.

David looked at him with bewilderment. "And say what? 'Excuse me for interrupting, but even though you don't have the foggiest idea who I am, I want you to know that I've been watching you for weeks and might be in love with your biceps?"

"Good… humor," Sean said encouragingly. David turned to leave.

"Wait!" Sean commanded, grabbing his arm. "Look, he's moving off by himself."

David tried to be heartened by this development, but… wasn't.

"Follow my lead," Sean said. He walked towards Keith. David—emotionally compromised—followed him.

"Hey Keith," he chirped. Keith nodded amiably, followed by a deep breath, as if to gather his thoughts.

"Hi… _Sean_," he answered. He dashed a glance at David. "How've you been?"

"Good, good," Sean answered. "You?"

"Good," he said. The conversation stalled.

"Um, this," Sean said, motioning to David. "Is my friend David. We went to the same church as kids."

Keith extended his hand. "I'm Keith."

"David," David said, redundantly, and mentally kicked himself.

"Keith is a cop," Sean explained. David smiled and nodded his approval, just managing to remain standing on his weakened knees.

"How's your cousin?" Keith asked Sean. Sean tensed up a little.

"Fine," he answered briskly. His face seemed to radiate "no thanks to you."

"Do you like it?" David suddenly asked. Sean and Keith looked at him. "Being a cop?" he clarified.

Keith nodded reflectively. "I do, actually. I get a real feeling of accomplishment helping keep LA safe."

"Great… work… you," David stammered. He felt faint. Keith pulled out his phone and glanced at it (smiling absently) before returning it to his pocket. Then he took a sip of his drink.

"What do you do?" he finally asked.

The dreaded question had come so soon. David contemplated lying. Dog trainer, casting director, history professor, even street sweeper all sounded like preferable professions to body embalmer. David looked at Sean and back at Keith. "I'm a funeral director," he said with a flourish, hoping to mask his uneasiness.

"Ah," Keith replied, unfazed. "Where?"

David cleared his throat. "At Fisher and Sons. I'm the son. _Great_-grandson actually. Fourth generation."

Keith nodded. "I attended a funeral there once."

"No you didn't," David blurted, and a second later was mortified. His mouth was functioning on auto-pilot.

"Excuse me?" Keith said.

"I would have remembered you," David said, clumsily emphasizing his mental decline. Sean looked at him like he had grown a third eye.

"You don't get many cops that come through?" Keith guessed.

"Tons and tons," David answered, adding to the confusion.

"Then… why would you have remembered me?" Keith asked—the only rational inquiry that could follow such a non-sequitur.

_Because you're the most regal, gorgeous, vocationally-appealing and patently unforgettable man I've ever met?_, David thought.

"Um, it's that, I, uh… I have a good memory."

Silence.

Sean placed a bracing hand on David's shoulder. "David's not my boyfriend," he declared, and walked off. David made a mental note to murder Sean as soon as they got back to the car. But first, he would have to escape. He was visualizing himself flying down the freeway when Keith suddenly spoke.

"Have you ever seen these before?" he asked, miraculously indicating that he desired to continue the conversation. David took a deep breath, fighting with _every_ ounce of his body to maintain composure. He looked at the black ball in question.

"No, I can't say that I have," he answered.

"It's what's passing at shiitake these days," he said disgusted. "It tastes like shit."

"Shiitake?" David asked.

"That's what it's labeled as," he said and pointed to the card. "It's not though. Maybe a little."

He tossed the ball in a nearby trash bin.

"Why is everything labeled?" David asked. He hadn't noticed before.

"A form of condescension," Keith said. "Because otherwise we wouldn't know how expensive everything is."

David noticed placards that read _Caviar d'aubergine_, Alaskan crab bisque, _Brandade de morue_—and that was just the food. The wines seem to snarl French epithets at anyone who approached.

"Don't get me wrong. I love fine dining," Keith explained after a while, "but I don't like the pretentiousness that goes with it. Especially when it's crap masquerading as gourmet." David listened attentively. "This is a _church_ function. Why the games?"

"Believe it or not," David said, "I see that in my line or work all the time."

"Yeah?" Keith implored.

David nodded. "When people die, their survivors sometimes get into… competitions of who loved the deceased more. They compete with material displays of affection. I've seen repasts that were more elaborate than wedding receptions."

"You would think that death would put people in a reflective mood," Keith said, then shook his head. "I guess it just brings out the jerks they already were."

David thought on that a moment. "I don't know. Sometimes it's not that… black and white."

Keith looked surprised. "How is that?"

"I mean, I totally agree that a funeral is the wrong time to be ostentatious. But, death is a finality that a lot of people find difficult to accept. The pageantry of the service sometimes helps balm the pain. Misguided, sure, but when we humans struggle to make sense of our grief, we sometimes land somewhere beside the point."

Keith didn't answer, just looked at David wordlessly. David feared his uninvited brand of armchair psychology had run contrary to Keith's belief system. Why couldn't he just smile and flirt like normal people?

"Funeral director, huh?" Keith said after some deliberation.

"Yeah," David said. "I know. Repulsive, creepy, scary… among other things I've heard."

"I don't think it's creepy," Keith said. "I mean, maybe a little. But it's a great service you all provide."

David lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's something like being a cop. At the time when everyone else is running away, we run towards the problem. Try to fix it up, make it right." David couldn't help but smile a little. "We're public servants."

"I guess we are."

Keith surveyed the food before him. "I'm starving," he said. David found that easy to believe. "I want _food_ food."

David saw an opportunity. "What cuisine do you like?"

"Mediterranean… North African. Couscous, red meat, olives." He gave the _hors d'ourves_ another contemptuous look.

"Really, because I know a great Mediterranean place about 15 minutes from here. They have some of the best tabouli I've ever had."

Keith sighed with some regret. "I'd love to go and try it out, but I have this… _thing_ later."

"Of course," David replied. "Maybe some other time."

"Yeah," Keith said, and for the first time since they had been talking, he smiled. "Um, let me get your number," he said taking out his phone, "and maybe if I have a free day…"

David's heart soared. "Yeah, absolutely."

He was halfway through reciting his digits when Keith looked up suddenly, as if something had caught his eye. David turned around to see what it was, but didn't see anything. "Excuse me," Keith said and walked determinedly towards a man standing at the gate. The two men barely greeted each other before launching into conversation. David watched with intrigue at how the men talked closely. The discussion seemed, in turns, to be serious and light: they'd lean in close with somber faces only to burst out laughing a second later. Minutes went by with them in spirited conversation when the other man tugged once on Keith's arm and began to leave through the gate. Keith made a passing glance over his shoulder, before jogging after the other man and disappearing too.

_Who is he?_, David wondered. His curiosity got the better of him. He found Sean, who was chatting with a friend of his.

"Seth," he said, unapologetically interrupting their conversation. "Did you see who Keith was just talking to?"

Seth took a perfunctory glance around. "Naw, I haven't seen Keith since I left you guys talking." He said the last part with a furtive tone.

David was unsatisfied. "He just walked off with some guy… maybe a _friend_ of his?" David suggested. His agitation, however, was unmistakable.

"What'd the guy look like?" Sean's friend asked. David answered with some reluctance.

"Black man, thirties maybe. Kind of bulked up, but not as much as Keith," he searched for more descriptors, but was at a loss. "I dunno. I'm not good at describing people."

"Did he have on silver boots?" Sean's friend asked.

David traced his memory, and the silver boots suddenly materialized in his mind. "Yeah, he did, come to think of it."

Seth's friend nodded. "Yeah, that's his partner."

David mentally choked. _Partner?_

"How do you know?" he heard himself asking.

"Because," Seth's friend explained, "they've been together for years." He said it so casually, not realizing the damage the news was doing to David. The two men resumed talking. "Yeah, so anyway, I'm not saying Kobe doesn't have raw talent, but he needs refinement. He's out there hopping around the court like a rabbit on crystal meth."

David could hear the two men talking, and may have even appeared to be listening… but mostly he was struck by a wave of disappointment. Why had he even come to this picnic to begin with?

He grabbed Sean's arm, "I'm ready to go," he announced.

"Woah, I still—"

"I need to go now," David insisted. Sean looked around.

"If you can just wait half an hour, Johnny still has my—"

"I can't," David said, almost pleading. "I'm leaving."

Seth nodded sympathetically. "Go," he said. "I'll catch a ride."

David nodded and—exhaling for the first time in minutes—turned to leave.

He wound through the—now _throngs_ of —people, and with each step the gate seemed farther and farther away. He jogged down the block to where he was parked, and after climbing into the car and locking the doors, he felt a calm come over him. He was so glad be out of there.

He also felt a little teary. He resisted the urge to break down right there, and batted away a tear as he pulled off.

* * *

><p><strong>Feedback:<strong> Your reviews, concrit and general thoughts are the fuel to my fire. Thanks in advance.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

* * *

><p>David and Ruth were leaving Sam's Club with enough supplies to fill a small hangar: gallons of hand sanitizer, crates of Kleenex, miles of toilet paper, bags <em>upon bags<em> of peppermint candy …

He suddenly stopped.

"We forgot the hand lotion," he groaned.

"What was that?" his mother asked.

"We forgot the hand lotion," he repeated. He turned to her. "Do you think we really need any?"

"I don't know," Ruth said. "It seems that every time we come here we buy more and more. I swear, there must be a dermatologist operating out of the basement."

While contemplating whether to go back for the lotion or just let it go, David saw something—or some_one_—in the corner of his eye.

It was Keith.

And he was looking at David.

He was walking towards David.

He was waving _at_ David.

After registering what was happening, David bolted.

"I'll… I'm going… I'll be right back Mom," he said and rushed off.

"Fine. I'll just have to load all these groceries in the car by myself then," she moaned, but David didn't hear her.

"Heading out?" Keith said once David had gotten closer.

David pushed the lump in his throat down. "Yeah. I'm… leaving."

Keith nodded. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah," David said. He tried to keep his eyes trained on Keith's face and not on his sexy police uniform. "You working?"

"Yeah," Keith said. He nodded back towards his police car. There was someone inside.

"…Nice," David said.

"Yeah. Anyway, the other day… I didn't get your number," Keith explained. David didn't say anything. "We got interrupted."

"Yeah," David said. "I just… I don't know if that's such a good idea."

Keith looked… _confused_.

"Why not?"

"You know," David answered calmly, but inside—he was getting angry. Why wouldn't Keith just leave him alone?

"No, I really don't," Keith said.

"You know, your partner might… he might not like it."

Keith was growing more perplexed by the moment. "Who?"

"I dunno," David shrugged. "The guy in the silver boots."

Keith was lost in thought a moment. He looked behind him in the direction from where he'd just come and emerged with a realization. "You think Jay is my boyfriend."

_Is that what Sean's friend had said?_

"If Jay was wearing silver boots, then… yeah. I mean, that's what someone told me," David answered.

A smirk crossed Keith's face. "So you asked about me?"

David registered a look of panic. "No, no… It just… came up."

Keith nodded. "Jay is my partner at work. We ride around in the same car."

That… that made a lot of sense. David felt simultaneously relieved and idiotic.

"Of course," he sighed.

"Look, David," Keith said. "I really enjoyed our conversation at the picnic. I thought maybe we could do it again. That's all. If you don't want to, my feelings won't be hurt."

"No," David replied eagerly. "I would love to. I really would. You have no idea. You can totally have my number." He cringed at how desperate he sounded.

"Great then," Keith said. Beat. "So what is it?"

"Right. 323-555-1689." Keith punched in the numbers. Then, he placed a hand on David's shoulder.

"I'll be seeing you," he said, and walked off before David could even respond.

The giddiness that had died unceremoniously at the picnic was back in full force. He ran back to the car and tried to suppress the grin that was taking over his face as he hopped into the driver's seat.

"Where is the lotion?" Ruth asked.

David turned on the ignition. "They were out," he said and pulled off.

* * *

><p>David, who had made a living out of listening to people, was finding it difficult to make a distinction between the words coming out of Keith's mouth and Keith's actual mouth. Which was just as well, as Keith was turning out to be a man of few words.<p>

After coolly perusing the menu, David had kept it light with a Greek salad. His digestion was not reliable under such circumstances. Keith, for his part, had decided on lamb kibbeh with an order of the much ballyhooed tabouli.

In the meantime, he told David a little about his niece Taylor. She liked Bratz dolls, and he was planning on getting her some for Christmas. His face lit up when he talked about her. It was endearing.

"Yeah," David said after he was done. "My sister used to be like that. Cute and adorable. Red hair with rosy little cheeks."

"And now?" Keith asked.

"Now…," David began, searching for the words, "Claire's in a weird place. I think she mostly wants to be left alone."'

Keith didn't seem to understand.

"She's 16," David explained. "She's in a phase."

Keith nodded.

"Yeah, well, my niece is no only eight and can be a handful too. She, um—" He stopped abruptly.

David filled in the silence. "You… must have siblings, to have a niece."

"Yeah," Keith said. "One sister. And you? Just the one sister?"

"No. I have an older brother, Nate. He works in some organic food co-op slash hippie commune in Seattle."

Keith took a sip of his wine. "So I take it you all aren't close."

David hedged on that point. "We have a way of… orbiting each other. It works for us."

Keith just nodded.

"Family is a weird dynamic," he said after some reflection. "I love my sister and parents, but… only in small doses. They'll fucking drive you crazy if you let 'em."

"Won't they?" David wholeheartedly agreed. It was the most refreshing statement of truth he'd heard all day.

"And being gay…" Keith continued. It was the first time he had explicitly said it. It felt… significant. "In a way it really changed my relationship with my parents. I feel like it finally made them recognize me as a man for the first time."

At that moment, their food arrived. They sat, silently eating, for several minutes.

"So," Keith said suddenly. "What's your coming out story?"

David was… flummoxed. Even more so for not having seen the question coming. Was that a normal thing to ask someone you just met?

He was prepared to construct some story on the fly, about devout parents who had been upset and disowned him. Then it crossed his mind that maybe he should go the supportive route, and boast of parents who loved him unconditionally. But, then… he got lost in some of the details. Should he have an aloof father and doting mother, or vice versa? _When_ had he come out? Had they met his boyfriend? How had his siblings responded?

Of course, there was always the truth. That he was only out to a handful of guys (that he'd had casual sex with), his ex-fiancée and one childhood friend. That his father's relationship was a complex enough as it was, and yet David still craved his approval. That his mother was certifiably insane half the time, and telling her would be more exhausting than anything. That sometimes he hated himself, and was still wrestling with the idea of going to Hell.

The truth was… his life was a lie.

Which wasn't much of a story. He sought refuge in his salad.

"Um, I guess it was kind of…" he stammered, rifling through feta cheese and kalamata olives. "My parents just kind of went with it. I mean, I could tell they weren't that thrilled. But, they came around to it, sort of. Mostly since we work together at the funeral home." He looked up tentatively at Keith to see if the story was working, but Keith's face didn't reveal much of anything. "Typical story I guess."

After a moment of awkward silence, Keith turned around, looking for the waiter. "Think they'll bring us some more bread?" he asked. He motioned for the waiter.

"They should," David said, fighting to regain composure… to dare _enjoy_ this. "You would think you could in a place that has bread in the title."

Keith chuckled at that. David liked seeing him smile. In the little time he knew Keith, David had already noticed that they didn't smile that often. When he made Keith smile, he felt special, like he had a secret super power.

"Something in the way you just said that now reminded me of an episode of _Oz_," Keith remarked. "I don't ever know if you've ever seen it, but—"

"Every episode," David said. And there went that smile again. "Best show ever."

"Isn't it?" Keith said.

"It's so dark, but then sometimes kind of perversely…"

"Hysterical?" Keith answered.

"Yeah," David agreed, already laughing at a memory he's about to relate. "Remember that episode where Beecher wanted to move to another cell? Tim was like, 'All the other cells are full.' So Beecher says, 'Then move me to another prison' and—"

Keith jumped in, "Yeah, Tim says 'Do I look like a travel agent to you?" Both men busted out laughing. "Nuts," Keith added.

"_So?_" David asks. Keith didn't catch his drift.

"So… _what?_"

"Beecher and Keller," David announced with some panache. Keith sighed.

"Jesus, what is that?"

"I know," David said, and dropped his head.

"That's some fucked up shit, that's what it is," Keith concluded.

"It is, it is," David replied, trying to agree, "but there is a connection there."

Keith snorted. "There's definitely a connection."

"I don't mean like that," David said. "I mean… yeah, Keller is a psychopath and manipulating and murderous and all, _but_…"

Keith looked at him with bemusement. "There's a 'but' after that?"

"_But_," David continued, "Beecher is under his skin. Keller's sleeping with other people just because he can't handle being rejected by Beecher. It's like, there a little bit of a tender heart beating in there somewhere." He shook his head. "Dammit if I'm not rooting for that couple."

Keith didn't say anything for several moments, and then busted out laughing.

"What?" David said, laughing too.

"You," Keith said. "You're a romantic aren't you?"

David turned away, a little embarrassed. But he couldn't stop smiling.

"You know what David," Keith said. "I needed this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah I did. Something that doesn't involve guns and high-speed chases."

David's heart fluttered a little.

The two men continued in conversation effortlessly, bouncing around on every topic from California real estate tax law to the way toothpaste clumps up under around the opening of the tube.

The went Dutch on the bill (David insisted) and walked outside into a hot LA night. It was already dark by the time the time they reached the parking lot, standing between their cars parked nobly next to each other.

"So, how was it?" Keith asked out of the blue.

"The food?" David asked. "Good as always."

"I'm not talking about the food," Keith asked. "I'm talking about our first date."

The words caught David off guard.

"That was a date, _wasn't it?_" Keith asked, but it didn't sound like a question.

"Yeah, I guess it was," David said, a smile inching around his face. He nodded. "It was great. Even better than the food."

"Good," Keith said, noticeably omitting his own opinion.

"What did _you_ think?" David ventured to ask.

Keith bit the inside of his check and then, almost imperceptibly, descended upon David's mouth. Keith's lips lingered there, full and electrifying and certain, and David — paralyzed with astonishment and faint with desire — was surprised to find his hands rising to Keith's face and his own lips pressing urgently against Keith's.

And then Keith pulled away. He casually dragged a thumb across his damp mouth.

"I'll be calling you David," he said, and walked around to the driver's side of his truck before pulling off.

David's quaking hands could barely put the key in the ignition as he fumbled to start his car.

* * *

><p><strong>Feedback:<strong> Your reviews, concrit and general thoughts are the fuel to my fire. Thanks in advance.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

><p>David was walking past Claire's room when he heard her hollering inside.<p>

"Well you know what? You can go fuck yourself, _Chester! _What kind of creep-ass name is that anyway?"

David paused and knocked on the door.

"Claire?" he asked.

There was silence a moment and the door cracked open with Claire peeping from behind.

"What?" she said peeved.

"What's going on?" No answer. "Everything alright?"

"I just realized that I only have more parasites than I have friends," she walked off back into her room. David took the liberty of following her in. He found her collapsed, face-down, on the bed.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you smoke pot with people and you have all the friends in the world. But you need a ride and suddenly everyone's 'busy'."

"You… smoke _pot_ with these people?" David asked.

Claire's face snapped towards David. "I said _they_ smoke pot, David. God, I don't need an interrogation right now."

David sighed.

"Do you need a ride Claire?" David asked.

She buried her head back into her pillow, clearly frustrated. "I don't wanna bother you."

"You're not bothering me. Where do you need to go?"

"To the auto shop. I still have to replace that bulb and now the friggin' oil light is on."

"Why don't you just let Dad take it to the same shop we take all the other hearses? They'll fix it in, like, 20 minutes."

"Because, _David_, I am not some World War II-era housewife that can't do for herself because she's been conditioned to be helpless by societal gender roles."

David stood motionless.

"Point being," Claire explained, "I can fix it myself."

"Fine," David said. "I'll be down in the car." He left.

Five minutes went by and David started to wonder if she was even going to come, when he saw her walking down the steps. She jumped into the passenger seat.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"My pleasure," David replied, and pulled off. They rode in silence and David seemed perplexed as to what to do or say. He contemplated turning on the radio, but suspected his preference for smooth jazz might not agree with his passenger. He almost asked her to share what was going on in her life, but guessed the question would be met with similar irritation. As he mentally groped for some alternate course of action his thoughts drifted to Keith. Knowing they were going somewhere tomorrow made life… a little more bearable.

"Why are you so happy?" Claire suddenly asked. He turned to her briefly. She wasn't even being sarcastic; her face betrayed actual curiosity.

"Happy?" David asked.

"You're humming," she said.

This was news to David. "Really?"

"You didn't know?" she asked.

David shook his head.

Claire looked at him as if he had a neon petunia growing out of his forehead and then turned back towards the window.

"You're weird, David," Claire said finally.

David nodded in full agreement.

* * *

><p>Keith had somehow wrangled David into going to the beach, an activity that David had vigorously avoided ever since it had dawned on him in the tenth grade that his complexion was about one shade darker than Casper the Friendly Ghost. Yet, here they were… standing in line... at a drink cart… on the beach.<p>

"So, have you always live in LA?" David asked.

"No," Keith answered. "I'm from San Diego originally."

"You miss it?"

Keith looked at him. His eyes were hidden behind his mirrored shades, but somehow his eyes smiled anyway.

"No I don't actually," he said. "I've mad a life for myself here."

David nodded then turned to the vendor. "I'll take a Bud light," he said. Then he yelped.

"You… OK?" the vendor asked. David looked back fitfully at Keith who was calmly looking at the ale list. He turned back to the vendor.

"Yes," David said, and handed the man ten bucks.

"And you?" the vendor asked Keith.

"A Michelob," he said.

"Coming up," he said and took two beers out of his cooler. He opened them both with a bottle opener, and then handed them to Keith and David. They walked off.

"Nice ass grab back there," David said, trying to act irritated, but actually amused.

"Anytime," Keith replied, and took a sip from his beer.

David marveled at Keith's manner; he was so unperturbed by who he was: a gay cop, a gay black man, a gay _Christian_—and wondered how he could exist so gloriously untroubled in a world that David found so daunting… and scary. Who was he? Where had _he_ come from?

"What's… _your_ story?" David asked seemingly out of the blue. Keith turned to him. "How'd you come out?"

Keith sighed, as if deciding where to start.

David helped him out. "Your parents… they didn't mind?"

Keith snorted a laugh. "Not exactly. I guess it's been about eight years ago now… maybe more. I'd been gay for a while, but really was just having a lot of sex: girls, boys, whatever." He took off his baseball cap, then put in back on and cleared his throat, and David could see him reaching for the memory. "I started dating this guy, Dante. He was my first real boyfriend. And all of a sudden, being in the closet started feeling like something I _couldn't_ do anymore. I went around to my folks' house and gave them the news." He dropped a dollar in the tip jar and began to walk.

"And then what? They were mad?"

"I thought my dad might murder me right then and there. My mom is more docile, but she wasn't exactly happy about it—and I never thought they would be. But, after the initial… _violence_ of the situation— "

"Hold on," David interrupted. "It got physical?"

"No," Keith said, amending his words. "Violent like… vicious and..." He trailed off. "It was a rough time. But, when I came out and told them the truth, about how I was going to live my life and how I wasn't willing to compromise myself for anybody, they had to accept that." He took a long swig from his beer, as if to punctuate the point.

David watched the man in front of him—he made being gay look easy. Like a viable option and not like a genetic disability, a sexual curse or a life sentence of self-loathing and guilt.

"You don't ever," David said after a moment. "You don't ever wonder what it would be like to be…" He pointed to a man on the beach lying on a towel next a girl. They were positioned in a way as to just stare at each other. "You don't ever wish you were them?"

"No," Keith said flatly. "Why would I?"

David tried to find the words to explain himself without sounding weird. "You don't ever wish you were just… _normal?_"

Keith stopped walking and looked at David like he'd sounded weird. "What the hell is 'normal', David?"

"I dunno."

Keith resumed walking, and after a beat, David jogged up next to him. He thought he might have made Keith mad, and placed a hand on his back. Keith paused, turning around. He watched David, looking him up and down, and David didn't know what to make of this turn of events. Keith finally took off his glasses and leaned in, planting David with a long, reckless kiss. David—at once electrified and mortified—froze.

"_That's_ normal," he said.

David touched his lips. Nothing about that had felt normal. But, he felt like maybe it could, one day. He wanted it to be.

"You're right," David said.

"Damn straight I'm right," Keith replied. "But a lot of people don't understand that." He smiled a little. "You're lucky to have the parents you do."

The words stung as they hit David's ears. Keith, however, didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah," David echoed blankly. "Lucky."

Keith looked around. "Where are the johns out here?"

David nodded back towards the boardwalk. "I think they are over there. Near the pier."

"Then I'll be right back," Keith said and sauntered off.

"I'll be right here," David called behind him. Wholly unprepared for a beach trip, he tentatively settled down into the sand. It had been so long since he done anything like this. He didn't know when his life and turned into a never ending carousel of funerals, churches and graveyards, with the occasional guilt-motivated dinner and movie with Jennifer. But it had been that way for so long that… he scarcely could remember living any other way.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, taking a moment to soak in the afternoon sun. When he looked back up, he was staring at his dad's friend/colleague, Dick Nettles, from Nettle's Crematorium. He had, on his arm, his latest sampling of arm candy.

"Hi there," Dick blurted. "One beer ain't enough anymore?"

David looked down at Keith's bottle in his left hand and then at his own. "I'm with someone."

Ned surveyed the area in an assholish display of doubt. "Where is she?"

_She?_

"Using the toilet," David answered.

"Ah," he said, apparently contented with that answer. "Well, I like a bitch that can swig with boys." He elbowed his "bitch," and then leaned forward. "Trust me, David. Whoever she is… she's a keeper."

"Thanks for the tip," David moaned.

"Right," Ned said. "Where are my manners?" he declared. _Oh the irony._ "This is David." She giggled and waved. "David… _this_ is Candy."

"Honestly?" David remarked. This guy's cliché's had clichés.

"Of course not," he said. "Real name's Cindy."

David sighed.

"I'll tell my dad I saw you," he hinted, in an attempt to signal the end of the conversation. Ned did not take the hint.

"Yeah, this beach ain't half bad. Not as crowded as some of the others."

"Nope," David said.

"I didn't want to come out here at first because they said this is where all the fags hang out." He shuddered. "Went to one last week." He turned to Cindy/Candy. "Where'd we go?"

She shrugged.

"Anyway, went to one last week—two dudes making out like it was Gay Day at the San Francisco Disneyland. Disgusting. Me and her got the hell out of there." He shook his head. "It's like they're taking over. I mean I don't have anything against 'em but, geez." He shrugged. "Haven't seen any here, though." Then he kicked David in the shin. "'Cept for you." He busted out in laughter, and Candy/Cindy heartily joined in.

"And what is that supposed to mean, Ned?" David said.

"It means I'm just busting your balls. God, David. Still haven't found that sense of humor yet, have you?"

David just wanted this moment to be over. He threw back his head in exasperation, only to see the upside-down figure of Keith walking towards them. He promptly stood up.

"Yeah, so have fun," he said. He started walking away.

"Yeah. And tell your old man not to be a stranger," Ned yelled.

"Yep," David replied and continued to walk off. With that, Ned—thoroughly distracted by Candy/Cindy—walked off.

Disaster averted.

David approached Keith with some urgency.

"I saw you looking at my ass earlier," Keith joked as he drew closer.

"I was not," David said, sharper than he meant to.

"You OK?" Keith asked.

"Yeah, I'm… I'm just ready to go," David said. He took off past him. Keith followed.

* * *

><p>The phone rang. David answered.<p>

"Fisher and Son's Funeral Home. David Fisher speaking. How may I help you?"

"This is Nate."

Silence.

"Good morning to you too," Nate snarked.

David rolled his eyes. "Good morning, Nate. Did you need something?"

"Let me talk to Dad."

"He's not here," David lied. And he wasn't sure why.

Nate sighed.

"Then can you ask him to pick me up from the airport for Thanksgiving? I'll be coming in Wednesday night at 8:16 into LAX. Flight number… well, can you have him call me?"

"I can," David replied demurely.

"Good," Nate said. Then he didn't hang up.

"So how've you been?" he asked. David always marveled at how sincere Nate sounded when he bothered to show any interest in them. It always left David looking like an asshole.

He sighed. "I'm fine." He softened some. "Thanks for asking."

"And Jennifer?" Nate added.

"Fine… I guess." David answered. He thought everyone that mattered already knew. He'd forgotten about Nate.

"You… _guess_?"

"We… aren't together anymore," David answered.

There was a moment of silence. "Aw man," Nate replied, and David would have sworn he almost actually sounded wounded. "I'm_really_ sorry to hear that Dave."

"Yeah; it was for the best."

"Breakups suck," Nate continued. This conversation needed to be over.

"I'll let Dad know you called," David said, and hung up.

* * *

><p>Nathaniel came into the office just as David was inputting the last of the information for the Perez funeral.<p>

"There's someone waiting for you in the foyer."

David rose. "Got a name?" he asked as he hurried past his father and towards the front of the house. Nathaniel didn't move.

"No, but he's a cop."

David stopped.

"Have any idea who he might be?" his father asked.

David shook his head faintly. "No idea," he said. Nathaniel nodded and left for the basement. David was relieved.

When he got to the foyer, he saw Keith standing there, reading one of their pamphlets. He didn't notice David standing there. David cleared his throat to signal his presence.

"David," Keith said.

"Keith," David replied.

"How… are you?" Keith asked.

"Good," David replied. "You?"

"Good," Keith echoed. He took a sweeping glance around. "Pretty impressive place you got here."

"Thank you," David said.

He gestured with a pamphlet. "How's business."

David nodded. "People keep dying."

"And you keep dressing them up." Keith said, followed by a nervous laugh. David's uneasiness was transferring to him. "Or embalming them."

"Right," David nodded. He pointed towards the front door and then walked out. Keith followed him.

"Did you need anything?" David asked. "Other than the flyer?"

"I was in the area and thought I'd stop by," Keith explained.

David smiled a little. "That was… nice."

Keith's smile grew wider. He inched a little closer. "And there was a certain white boy I wanted to invite to lunch."

David felt something swell in him, but he pushed it down. Even so, he could feel some of it spilling into the corners in his mouth.

"Sorry. Up to my gills," David said.

"That's OK," Keith said. "Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, yeah," David said. Keith grew closer.

"Good," he purred. "Because, there's something… I want to show you."

David could feel himself grinning now.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," Keith said. They were face to face now and Keith looped a finger in David's belt buckle. "And I don't think it can wait much longer." He looked at David tellingly and then inching closer, leaned in for a—

David backed away. Keith's face registered some displeasure.

"I'm working," David offered as an explanation.

"So am I," Keith countered.

"Yeah, but you know, it's a funeral home. People get really touchy about decorum and everything." There was silence. "You understand right?" David pleaded. Keith didn't seem to.

Just then the door flew open. It was Nathaniel. The three men looked at each other expectantly.

"Hello," Nathaniel finally said, nodding towards Keith. "Hope everything's alright officer."

"Everything is," David interjected. "Fine."

"Good," Nathaniel said. His eyes lingered a moment on Keith before turning to David. "Son, Mrs. Perez in on the phone for you. Says she needs to change the day of the funeral. Maybe Saturday."

David seemed agitated by that news. "I don't know what time she can change it to. We are overbooked as it is. Right?"

"I dunno David; we might be able to work it in."

David was seething agitation. "That's what you always say, and then another Saturday turns into a body parade." He sighed. "Just, give me one second."

Nathaniel nodded at Keith, then went back inside.

"I take it that's your dad," Keith said. His tone indicated that he hadn't missed the fact that David hadn't introduced them.

David diverted his eyes. "Yeah."

"And it looks like you're busy," Keith added.

"Yeah," David said.

"Then... I'll be going." He turned and headed for the steps.

"See you tomorrow?" David called after him.

Keith turned around. "I'll see you tomorrow," he replied and left.

* * *

><p><strong>Feedback:<strong> Your reviews, concrit and general thoughts are the fuel to my fire. Thanks in advance.


	6. Chapter 6

_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

* * *

><p>David had noticed years ago that the temperature of the weather and the density of the freeway traffic were directly proportional to how ripe the body in the back of the van was. His most recent "client" had lied motionless in the nursing home for hours before it dawned on anyone that he was even dead. Add the next four hours of trying to reach the family and an additional couple of hours while the family decided where to send him (all of this time unrefrigerated, mind you) and David was practically transporting compost.<p>

Except this guy smelled even worse. He must have taken a postmortem dump along the way.

David debated whether he could even afford to stop for gas—since he didn't to prolong this trip any further—but with each mile taking an eternity, he realized he couldn't take the chance. He pulled off the freeway and went to the nearest gas station. After filling up his tank, he looked up and locked eyes with the most glorious example _ever_ of ironic occupational names. Randy Cummings (St. Bart's youth pastor) was standing at the next pump.

"Just who I wanted to see," he bellowed when he saw David. "Get over here, man!"

David, wiping his greasy hands with a paper towel, gave the young minister an awkward hand shake.

"Great to see you, David," he repeated.

"_Really?"_ David asked. Randy's enthusiasm seemed… excessive.

"Yeah. Haven't seen you in a while. You still at St. Bart's?"

"Yeah, I am. I've just been visiting another church lately."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "With Jennifer?"

"No."

Randy didn't miss a beat. "Doesn't matter. Where two are gathered in His name, right?" He sounded like he was talking to one of his teenagers.

"Yeah, that's what they say," David answered.

With that, Randy drew closer. "You know Curtis Thomas don't you?"

David did, kind of. He was the eldest of the Thomas kids. His dad had gone to school with Nate. "Yeah, I… know who he is."

"I thought so," Randy said. His tone grew serious, with a hint of determination. "I ask because you two seem like you really have a rapport."

"We… do?" David said.

"Yeah. I've seen you guys talking a couple times after services. He mentioned your name when we talked a couple days ago."

"He… _did_?" That news came as a surprise to David. "What did he say?"

"That he liked you a lot. Anyway," Randy paused, scrounging up his face and telegraphing that he was in "deep sympathy mode." It was a face David has seen before. "This is a delicate issue David."

"_What…_ is?" David said, still lost.

"Curtis." He sighed. "Curtis confided in me… something."

David nodded with harried anticipation. He had to get a move on. There was a decaying carcass in his van, baking in the LA sun.

"I'm, of course, telling you this in the strictest confidence, but… he is under the impression that he is gay."

"Under the _impression_ that he's gay?" David repeated.

"Yes," Randy said nodding. "He's very confused right now, and very anxious. Doesn't know what his next step should be. I told him to just sit tight, take it to the Lord and that we would get back together Friday and, you know, sit down and work through is feelings."

"Right," David said. He'd heard enough. Only one question remained. "Where do I come in?"

"Where _you_ come in," Randy began, all pained concern, "is that Curtis _trusts_ you. And when it comes to topics like this one, trust is critical. If we lose his trust… we lose him."

David took issue with the word "we."

"Um, I'm not sure what I could do," David said. "He and I have only talked a couple times. I think he likes… guitars, or something." Curtis had actually talked about Harry Potter, but David figured the guy had enough on his plate without throwing witchcraft in the mix.

"You could… you could help him understand the transformative power or God's love."

"I thought the Episcopalian Church was gay friendly."

"And we are," Randy insisted. "This is not about hate David. This is about aligning ourselves with God. This is not just a battle Curtis fights. This is a battle all of us must struggle with. It is not an easy one. But it is one well worth fighting. Hell is a reality that we all rage against even though it's calling for us at every turn. In the good book…"

Randy continued speaking, but his voice – once dripping in cloying levity – began to fall on David's ears in a whirlpool of brassy distortion. His words – disembodied and resonant – grew deeper, murkier, more disturbing. His face—previously the model of compassion—grew graver, twisting and contorting itself into a visage of anger, of rage and of condemnation. Color grew stark and harsh and a jarring yellow halo of glaring light seemed to round his face. His effusive and enthused sermon was reduced to a solitary word: Hell. David's senses seemed to narrow and funnel him into a single, garish vision: the word grew in intensity, rising to an unrelenting chant—drowning out the world around them both—while a growing, unseen chorus of naysayers joined in the resounding, damning cadence: "Hell, Hell, Hell, Hell, Hell, Hell, Hell, _Hell…_

"Hell," David whispered.

"Excuse me?" Randy said.

David cleared his throat. He could feel sweat forming on his brow. "Nothing."

"I said what _time_ is it?"

David looked at his watch. "Four o'clock."

"Damn," Randy said, surprisingly. "I've… I've gotta run. I left my cell phone at home, so now I'm timeless _and_ unreachable. Anyway." He chuckled, and held his hand out to shake David's hand without letting go. "Look you don't have to meet with us Friday, David. He didn't ask me to do that, and I don't want to amplify the situation, OK? Just, if he needs someone to talk to, do think you could… lend him an ear?"

"Um," David began haltingly. His recent trip to perdition had left him rattled. "Sure, I don't see why not."

"Excellent. That's all I ask. Take care David," he said. He walked towards his car and drove off. David watched as he drove away.

* * *

><p>"So have you decided on which movie we're going to see?" Keith asked.<p>

David reflected a moment as he bit into the last of his cookies. Eating in bed, which had started as an isolated incident last week, was slowly turning into a habit.

"This is getting complicated," he answered with a mouthful of Oreo.

"OK," Keith sighed. "Yesterday we narrowed it down to _Me, Myself and Irene_, _Gladiator_ (which I've already seen), _Scary Movie_ and The _Nutty Professor II: The Klumps_."

"Can White people watch _The Nutty Professor_?" David asked.

"I dunno; I'm not White," Keith answered. David got tired of holding the phone and put it on speaker then set it on his pillow. He put on his eye mask.

"Well, I'm not seeing _Gladiator_," he said after some deliberation. "And please don't make me watch a Jim Carrey movie."

"Why? He's funny," Keith said.

"I guess," David shrugged.

"Whatever. That leaves _Scary Movie_."

David sighed. "You forgot about _Fantasia_."

"No I didn't. I just hoped you had."

David sighed wistfully. "I used to love that movie when I was little," he said.

"Yeah, well. Two grown men going to see that movie are going to look like pedophiles."

"Or homos," David added. "What is _Scary Movie_ about anyway?"

"I don't know. Scary stuff." Keith said.

"Hmm." David didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

><p>"So have you decided on which movie we're going to see?" Keith asked.<p>

David reflected a moment as he bit into the last of his cookies. Eating in bed, which had started as an isolated incident last week, was slowly turning into a habit.

"This is getting complicated," he answered with a mouthful of Oreo.

"OK," Keith sighed. "Yesterday we narrowed it down to _Me, Myself and Irene_, _Gladiator_ (which I've already seen), _Scary Movie_ and The _Nutty Professor II: The Klumps_."

"Can White people watch _The Nutty Professor_?" David asked.

"I dunno; I'm not White," Keith answered. David got tired of holding the phone and put it on speaker then set it on his pillow. He put on his eye mask.

"Well, I'm not seeing _Gladiator_," he said after some deliberation. "And please don't make me watch a Jim Carrey movie."

"Why? He's funny," Keith said.

"I guess," David shrugged.

"Whatever. That leaves _Scary Movie_."

David sighed. "You forgot about _Fantasia_."

"No I didn't. I just hoped you had."

David sighed wistfully. "I used to love that movie when I was little," he said.

"Yeah, well. Two grown men going to see that movie are going to look like pedophiles."

"Or homos," David added. "What is _Scary Movie_ about anyway?"

"I don't know. Scary stuff." Keith said.

"Hmm." David didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

><p>David was standing at the back of the funeral chapel fixated on the boutonniere of the man at the podium. The flower was held by a single, dangling pin, and looked poised to drop any minute. The fact that the gentleman was eight minutes into his eulogy with no signs of ending anytime soon only added to the agony.<p>

David felt his right butt cheek vibrating and stepped out into the hallway.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this David?"

"Speaking," David replied.

"Yeah, um. This is Curtis."

_Um, OK._

" Curtis… from church?" David asked.

"Yeah. I was just wondering how you were doing."

_Yeah right_, David thought. Was there no rest for the weary?

"I'm kind of in the middle of a funeral right now, Curtis," David explained, trying very hard not to sound put out. "Is there any way you could, maybe, call me back later?"

_Or never._

"Um, yeah, I guess. I just—"

"Great," David said, and hung up.

* * *

><p><em>Scary Movie<em> turned out to be the least scary movie ever made. Five minutes into the film, David began to give running commentary of all the insipid plot points of the movie, while simultaneously missing the pop culture references to other (actually scary) films he hadn't seen.

To Keith, it only meant one thing.

"So you aren't scared?" he asked.

David leveled a look of disbelief. "No Keith," he answered, taking a sip off his soda. "I am not scared."

"Too bad," Keith said. "Because if you were scared…" He wrapped an arm around David and leaned in seductively. "…I would be ready to comfort you."

David stared at Keith's arm before gently removing it and returning it to Keith's lap. "Well, I'm _not_, and even if I were…" He stopped there.

"Even if you were what?" Keith asked.

"Nothing," David said and nibbled on some popcorn. Keith shrugged and grabbed a handful of popcorn himself. David's mouth dropped, and he let out a laugh. "So now I guess popcorn isn't high in carbs and trans fat after all."

"No, it still is," Keith said, hovering the popcorn in front of his face, stopping just short of taking a bite.

"Oh, really? Then you just don't care anymore. You know, kind of like normal people?" David teased.

Keith sighed, a playful curl on his lip. "Man, David, you really know how to take the fun out of the movies."

"Oh,_ I_ know how to take the fun out of the movies? Not you, with your seltzer water and diet chewing gum... Keith!" he squealed.

Keith had dropped his handful of popcorn back into the tub.

"What?" he shrugged.

"You can't just drop popcorn back into the tub like that."

"Yeah I can. I just did."

"But it's unsanitary," he gasped.

"You've never cared about being unsanitary with me before."

"Shut up, motherfuckers!" came a voice from behind them. Keith turned around to see three teenage boys sniggling behind him. The one in the middle looked like trouble.

"Who you calling a motherfucker?" Keith asked.

The boys looked at each other anxiously; the middle one piped up. "You," he said defiantly.

Keith turned around and threw his middle finger over his shoulder.

After a moment the boy started up again. "If you put that finger back here again, you might not get it back."

Keith nodded without turning around. "I'd get it back," he said smugly.

"_Keith_," David pleaded.

"What?" Keith replied, annoyed.

"Suck my dick," came the same voice from behind.

"You'd like that," Keith called back.

All three boys audibly recoiled. "No I wouldn't," he said. "I ain't no fag."

Keith turned around in his chair coming with a couple inches of the boys face. "What's the matter with being a fag?" he growled.

"Nothing," the boy whispered.

"I didn't think so," Keith said, then turned back around and sat down. After a moment of collection, he grabbed another handful of popcorn without a trace of unease.

David for his part, was hopelessly agitated.

"Are you enjoying this movie?" he asked Keith.

"It's OK, I guess," Keith replied.

"Let's get out of here?" David suggested. Keith thought a moment and then nodded, and the two headed for the door. A calm came over David when they did.

"You don't want to hop into one of the other theatres? See the end of _Gladiator_. It's a good one," Keith said.

"NO, I don't want to hop into one of the other theatres," David repeated, irritated. "What I _want_ is to get out of here." He stormed for the doors. Keith followed down behind him.

"What's your problem?" Keith asked once they were outside.

David stopped and spun around. "Are you kidding?"

"Wait," Keith said, realization settling in. "We left because of those punks back there?"

"No, we left because of you," David answered. "What was that back there?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Why did you have to make such a big deal about it? I mean, we _actually were_ talking."

Keith was astonished. "So, because we were talking, they can call us fags."

"They called us motherfuckers, too," David said.

Keith squinted in confusion. "That's your argument? 'They called us motherfuckers _too_?'" Keith snorted a laugh. "They aren't even out of high school and they're already little bigots that—"

"Who cares?" David yelled.

"I do," Keith shot back. "And you should too." He shook his head. "And don't think I missed your little arm block back there either," Keith said.

Two girls walking past regarded their heated conversation with some concern. David grabbed Keith's arm and pulled him off to the side, an action which Keith resisted.

"I'm discreet," he continued more quietly, "because we live in a crazy world with fanatics full of hate," David said.

"And they can take their hate and shove it up their asses," Keith retorted.

"Easy to say when you have a gun strapped to your belt."

Keith didn't say anything, and instead stared at David intently without moving a muscle.

"What?" David said, annoyed.

Keith waited a beat before answering.

"You're not out," he said flatly. David snorted at the accusation.

"So now you're calling me a liar," he said dismissively.

"Well… are you out?"

"Of course I'm _out_, Keith," he spat.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then why are we standing out _here_ instead of sitting in _there_ watching a movie?"

"Because," David explained in a loud whisper, "you have to turn every interaction into a gay rights demonstration. Forgive me if I don't live life from behind the cloak of a rainbow flag."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure you _do_. You judge your every action against how it rates on the 'Do I Look Like A Fag?' scale."

"That's ripe coming from you," David quipped. "You don't even see yourself overcompensating."

Keith was taken aback. "Why? Because I'm a cop? Because I'm not scared to eat in a restaurant or walk on the beach or _go to the goddamn movies_? Gay is what you _make_ it David."

"Don't _educate_ me about being gay, Keith," David spat with some contempt. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No," Keith said calmly. "But I do think you're scared."

"Right," David answered mockingly. "Because you're so brave."

"David, you live a life of _blame_," Keith continued. David turned away, taking a couple paces_._

"I'm… I don't even hear you anymore."

"You blame everyone else for your lies. You blame your parents, your brother, society. But it's not about them or anybody else, David; it's about _you_."

"Are you done?" he asked. But Keith wasn't done.

"_You're_ the one filled with hate. _You_ hate being gay because you it keeps you from being the one thing you want to be more than anything else in the world: _straight_."

David spun around and met Keith's eyes with an icy glare. "You think you know me, but you don't," he said through grit teeth. "I was gay before I ever met you."

"Really? How did you know? Because you made out with a guy in a truck stop?" Keith asked. "Stop giving strangers blowjobs and get in a real relationship for once."

David was _apopleptic_.

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed and stormed off. He didn't even turn around when he heard Keith calling his name.

* * *

><p><strong>Your feedback makes my heart sing. Your concrit makes me better. Leave both… please.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

It had been over six weeks since David had broken the news to Jennifer (week had gone by since he'd last talked to Keith) and David thought back on all the countless fantasies he'd had before all of this: fantasies that liberating himself from his engagement with Jennifer would usher him into a new world of courage and hope. That after venturing one toe out of the closet, the rest of him would come bursting out, chomping at the bit for a chance at freedom and truth. That it would give him a new chance at living… maybe even a chance at love.

The reality had been a lot bleaker.

"Mr. Thompson—," he said to the man sitting before him.

"Please, call me Gil," the man insisted, wrestling with a tiny girl swallowed in brown curls that was giddily writhing on his lap.

"And call me Jackie," the woman agreed. "Just think 'Jack and Jill'." She said it with a glee that suggested she said it a lot.

David nodded. "OK… Gil," he said. "Um, are you familiar with the _purpose_ of a pre-need?"

"I am," he said, turning to his wife. "_We_ are. It's something I wanted to get in order before my trip."

"Your… _trip_?" David asked.

"Gil is a microbiologist," Jackie explained, "with a focus in psychrophilic bacteria, or bacteria that thrive in extreme cold."

"Right," Gil continued. "I'll be taking a trip to the Antarctic for two months to explore the affects of global warming on these microbes."

"Is that… dangerous?" David inquired.

"Everything should be okay," Gil answered cautiously. "Antarctic research isn't nearly the death romp it used to be. But, I just want to be… careful."

He and his wife gave each other somber looks.

"Of course," David said. Gil placed the wriggling toddler on the floor and she toddled off to look at a fake plant several feet away. David watched the little girl in quiet amazement.

"She's adorable," he said.

"Thanks," Gil replied, watching her too. The little girl yanked the plant down, and it almost toppled on top of her.

"No Katy," Jackie said, jumping up and grabbing it.

"Sorry about that," Gil said.

"She's fine," David assured him, "How old is she, if you don't mind my asking."

"Seventeen months," he answered. "She's getting to the age where she's getting into everything."

"I love that age," David replied wistfully. "So full of wonder and curiosity."

"Ah," Gil says with a cluck. "You have some little ones?"

The question caught David by surprise, before he realized that it was an easy conclusion to draw.

"Um, no. No children of my own. Just a sister. A younger sister. Much younger than me. I remember when she was that age."

"Oh," Gil says, still smiling. "Yeah, Katy's the light of our life. Blew our whole perspective on _everything_ wide open. For the better."

"Yeah," David said. He stared off a bit. "I always wanted kids." The words were out of his mouth before he realized it. There must have been a trace of sadness in his voice.

"It'll happen," Gil replied reassuringly. "You're young still. You just have to be patient." David turned and noticed the pity in the other man's eyes. "Jackie and I thought we had it all figured out. Graduate at 22, get married at 23, have kids at 27." He looked down at his wife who was quietly playing with Katy on the floor. He leaned in and whispered. "Took us three years."

David didn't respond.

"Your turn's coming."

David looked back at his clipboard. "Full name starting with your last."

* * *

><p>David was vacuuming the chapel when his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID.<p>

It was Keith.

He hit ignore and resumed vacuuming.

* * *

><p>David left work and set out in his car. He didn't have any particular destination in mind, but he wanted to be alone—alone with just himself and his thoughts in a way that only a long drive could afford. He had a lot of thinking to do (or maybe non-thinking to do) and the only thing he was sure of was that, recently, he had been his own best company.<p>

Which made it even more amazing when he found himself pulling up in front of Jennifer's townhouse and then knocking on her door.

He wasn't even sure that she would answer.

"Hi," he said when she did.

"Hi," she replied. Her face was blank, but not angry, and that had to mean _something_.

"Can I come in?"

With some hesitation, she opened the door. He walked in and then presumed to sit down on the couch. She didn't.

"What are you watching?" he asked without looking back at her.

"_Trading Spaces_," she answered.

Moments passed as he cheerlessly pretended to watch the show. Then started to cough uncontrollably.

She rushed to get him a glass of water and set it down in front of him, which he drank heartily. Then, he resumed watching the show as if nothing had happened.

After several minutes of quiet agony he glanced up at her. She was staring at him as if he were a bow-tie wearing giraffe that has miraculously materialized in her living room.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" David asked.

She didn't answer for a long while. Finally this:

"What do you want David?"

She said it with no malice or hurt. Certainly a lot of curiosity.

He stood up and drew closer. "Do you still love me?"

She turned away; she couldn't meet his eyes. "That's not fair David."

He drew even closer. Too close. "Because I think I'm still in love with you."

She looked back at him with some disgust. "You _think_?"

"I am," he asserted. "I want us to get back together."

She shook her head. "David. You're gay."

"Or maybe not," he shrugged. "Maybe I'm bi or something but I… I want to get back with you." She looked down into her fidgety hands. "Please, look at me," he pleaded. She did. "I want to marry you."

She greeted his eyes with a steely glare and David awaited her reply with an anxiety that approached terror.

"I'm not going to marry you."

David sank. "How can you just say that?"

"A lot easier than you think," she replied.

And even though she made total sense, there was something in him – desperate and wanting and manic – goading him to lower depths. "Jennifer," he said and took her hands. She pulled them back. "Please don't say that so casually. You didn't even think about it."

She started backing away. "You should leave now," she said.

"Jennifer, just list—"

"Leave, David!" she yelled. He took a hard breath, and then left.

* * *

><p>After a sleepless night that ends to soon, the ritual of getting ready can seem like unmitigated torture.<p>

David was finding the sheer pageantry of getting dressed to be exhausting: putting on a T-shirt and then his boxers, ironing his shirt, tying his tie, putting on his suit, and then his socks—not to mention mentally orchestrating an ensemble that was both somber and welcoming—were all just short of excruciating. Even though, at the moment, he was still only at the point of brushing his teeth, the prospect of it all seemed cruel and daunting.

He heard his phone vibrating. He'd unwittingly left it in the bathroom the night before after going to bed at an uncharacteristically early hour (8:00). With sudsy hands, he picked up his cell, only to learn he had five missed calls. He brushed with his right hand and dialed with his left.

"You have reached the voicemail of—"

He pressed one.

"To hear your mess—"

He pressed one.

"First message. Received Thursday, August 3 at 8:07 PM... 'Where are you? Anyway, Mrs. Pope called said she wasn't pleased with the seating arrangement at the graveside service. If you could—'"

He pressed four.

"Message saved. Next message. Received Thursday, August 3 at 8:12 PM… 'This is Mary with Portland Wholesale Suppliers. The tracking number on your shipment of Buddha statues is 1Z96—'"

He pressed four.

"Message saved. Next message. Received Thursday, August 3 at 8:32 PM… 'Mr. Fisher, this is Burt's Vinyl Siding, and if you are interested in remodeling your home—'"

Seven.

"Your message has been deleted. Next message. Received Thursday, August 3 at 9:46 PM… David, this is Curtis."

"Weave me awone," David muttered in between scrubs.

"Your message has been deleted. Next message. Received Thursday, August 3 at 11:24 PM…Hey David."

It was Keith.

"Um… I'm pretty sure you've been ignoring my calls. There's no way you miss somebody that many times."

David pressed eight, then spit out the last of his mouth wash and rinsed his face. He put the phone on speaker, before sitting down on the lid of the toilet. Then he took a deep breath and pressed eight again.

"I don't need to tell you that we ended on a bad note, and I think we both said some things we regret. And to be honest, last week I was ready to just let you go. But I don't want you to confuse me with the other people in your life. I'm not waiting for you to change or wanting you to be something you're not." There was a pause. "Call me David."

David stared at the phone with quiet reverence. Then, he walked out of the bathroom, climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

* * *

><p>David and Ruth sat on the couch in the TV room watching re-runs <em>Star Trek: Voyager<em>, a program neither one of them particularly liked. Watching a show he had no investment in had the odd consequence of lulling David into an almost catatonic state—a mental rest of the profoundest kind. He couldn't, however, speak for his mother's motivations in continuing to watch. He looked on as she passively followed the images dancing on the television screen in front of her.

She'd had her hair cut recently. She looked… only _slightly_ different than she always did. She was so plain and conservative that sometimes he wondered why she even bothered getting her hair done at all. A part of him regarded his mother with complete confusion: she could be nagging and naïve and shrill, sure. But, other times, David was sure he had gotten all his best qualities from his mother: his compassion, his restraint, his sense of duty. Out of everyone, his mother was his family. His mother made this place seem like more than a place to park corpses.

During a commercial for Bud Light, she piped up out of nowhere.

"I'm glad you're back attending services with me David," she said.

He nodded, and then turned his attention back to the television, while pulling a leg under him on the couch. She offered him popcorn from the largely ignored bowl that was resting on her lap. He declined.

"You seem so sad lately," she said. "Are you OK?"

The question seemed so innocent; being "OK" seemed like a peculiarity of childhood.

"I'm fine, Mom," he answered. He placed a hand on hers. "Don't worry about me."

She chuckled. "I don't know how not to." She paused. "Are you sad because you and Jennifer didn't work out?"

David didn't answer for a long time. He wished that were the answer. _That_ would be simple, something his mother could understand.

"Mom," he said.

She turned to him. "Yes dear?"

"If you could marry Dad over again… would you?"

"What kind of question is that?" she said with a small laugh.

"I just... I just wanna know."

Ruth smiled and placed a hand on David's. "Does this have anything to do with Jennifer?" she asked.

David shrugged. "I dunno."

Ruth sighed. "Dear, I _would_ marry your father again. He's given me a lot: my home, my life… he's the father of my children."

"Do you love him?"

"Sure, dear," she said. She patted his hand, before turning her attention back to the television. But she had a question too. "Did you love Jennifer?"

David waited a beat. "I thought I did."

"But not enough" Ruth added.

_Not enough?_ The phrase caught him off guard.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… how much does it take to love someone?"

David had never thought of love in quantitative terms before. "I mean, if you love someone a lot—_really_ love them—that should be enough. Right?"

"I think you never really know until it's over. If a relationship ends when one of you takes your last breath, then it was enough. If it doesn't… then it wasn't."

David thought on that a moment. "But there must be some way to know beforehand. _Before_ you commit."

"I would imagine so," Ruth said reflectively. "Love is very close to… truth. If something is true, if your love is true, your relationship is honest—then, your love should be enough. It'll keep being enough, because it'll be real."

The words landed on David's ears with breathtaking gravity.

Impulsively, he stood up. He lifted his jacket off of a nearby chair.

"And where are you going?" Ruth asked.

David hesitated. "I… wish I could tell you."

Ruth shrugged. "I don't know what that means David. Are you going to see Jennifer?"

"No."

She just sighed, pressing her lips into a frustrated line. "I can't imagine why you can't tell me." She turned back to the TV. "Well, my children certainly like to keep me confused, that's for sure. I only wish I could stop caring. Maybe one day I will."

David watched his mother.

"Mom," he said. She turned to him. "Thank you. For caring."

Her previous scowl was replaced with the hints of a smile. She reached out for him and he took her hand. "You're welcome, darling," she said.

With that he left.

* * *

><p>Keith was lying in bed watching the movie <em>Bullitt<em> when he heard a knock on the door. He crept out to the living room in his tank top and boxers, careful not to make a sound. Peering out of the peephole, he was shocked to find David standing there.

He stepped away from the door a moment, contemplating what to do.

"I know you're in there," David called through the door. "I saw the peephole get dark." There was a pause. "Besides, I already left a note on your truck."

Keith opened the door.

"Can I come in?" David asked.

Silently, Keith motioned David to enter. Once inside, the two men stared at each other.

"I'm here to apologize," David said at last. Keith didn't respond. He almost didn't recognize the person standing in front of him. Far from neat and poised, David was folded into himself, dressed in sweats, and fidgety. And yet somehow, he looked emboldened and determined and vulnerable all at the same time. "I… I lied to you."

"I know," Keith said.

"I'm not out of the closet," David continued. As he spoke, he seemed to measure every word against Keith's reaction. When there was none, he wearily moved on. "I'm not out to anyone. Except my ex-fiancée. And Sean. And you."

Keith continued in silence, reactionless and absently scratching at his arm.

"The truth is... I _do_ hate being gay sometimes. Most of the time, really. But not all the time. Not when I'm with you. I love… _being_ with you. And I like the thought of us being together. And I like that when I'm with you I see a future that's more than being scared and alone. But… I still care about what other people think. I hate being stared at in stores. I hate being grouped in with people that don't seem like me. I hate being _different_." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "And then I hate myself for caring about all that." He stopped, and a visible sadness came over him. "I know that must seem _pathetic_… to you. You walk around with such confidence, like you never even…" He stopped, unable to continue.

Keith stepped forward, softening. "I don't have it all figured out either, David." Keith said. "None of this is easy… for anybody." He tucked his finger under David chin and pulled his face towards his. "But you have got to stop hating yourself. Or you're never gonna let anyone else love you."

David's bottom lip was trembling, and he looked up the ceiling, willing the water that was gathering in his eyes to return from whence they'd come. He cleared his throat and turned back to Keith, fighting to regain composure. After a labored minute he spoke. "I don't expect you to want to, um, be with me—"

Keith drew closer, placing a finger over David's mouth. Then he replaced his finger with his lips. David's breath caught, and he gently pulled back and placed both hands on Keith's face, staring into his eyes with quiet wonder and longing. He leaned in again, and let himself feel what just moments ago he was too ashamed to even wish for. For the first time in a long time, he felt simply good; his heart soared and his worries were soothed by the heat of Keith's lips against his own.

* * *

><p>Keith was beautiful when he slept. Like some dark, chiseled, paragon of a man. His chocolate skin that glistened in the morning light was pulled taut over muscles that perked up effortlessly with the slightest move.<p>

David battled between the sparkling reality of the man that lied next to him in bed and the bleak image of inadequacy he had of himself. And yet, there Keith was, lying there, as real as life and death. The thought of him… _them_, actually being _together_ made David giddy, and hopeful, and satisfied…

And happy.

If he allowed his mind to drift into the future…

But he didn't. He stopped there. One day at a time. One morning at a time.

One minute at a time.

Keith rolled over, his eyes blinking, and smiled when his eyes met David's.

"You were watching me sleep?"

"Yep," David said, shamelessly.

"You know that voyeurism is a crime in all 50 states, right?"

"Then lock me up… officer," David said.

Keith smiled at that.

"I should," he said. He sat up some. "Thanks, for…"

He didn't finish. He didn't have to.

"I want us to be together," David said, almost pleading.

"We are together," Keith said.

"I know," David said. He fell back against his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. That wasn't exactly what he'd meant. Words escaped him.

"Are you hungry?" Keith asked.

David turned to him. "I keep… going over it in my mind and can't see how… how you can be with me if I'm _not_ out and you are and—"

Keith dropped his head, exasperated, and rubbed one eye with is free hand. David stopped talking. Keith turned back to him. "Let _me_ worry about loving you," he said. "You worry about…" He reached under the covers and came back up with a pair of white, cotton briefs. "Don't ever come back to my bed with these tighty-whities on. Ever."

A bright smile came across David's face. "OK," he said.

They stared at each other a minute, before Keith sighed heavily. "Well, if you're not hungry, I am." He threw his feet over the edge of the bed, but David grabbed his arm.

"Don't leave me… not yet," he pleaded. "I'm not done staring at your… sexy face."

David could see Keith mentally wrestling with his stomach for a moment before – climbing over the covers – he got on all fours and loomed over David. David looked up coyly from under the comforter at the larger man; he could feel the heat from Keith's massive body enveloping his own. Keith swooped down and planted David with a firm, manly, body-numbing kiss.

The verdict was in: breakfast would have to wait.

**THE END**

* * *

><p><strong>Feedback:<strong> It makes my world go round; I cherish each message and concrit.


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